"Right on the playground, mother, you mean," corrected "St. George" with a laugh; "it's set on Sachem Hill itself--up in the clouds in a jolly fashion."
"There was one other reason," added Mrs. Allen after a pause, "and that was, he said 'I can trust George Edward.'"
The boy occupied with his other boot looked up quickly, said nothing, but a bright smile flashed over his face; and he jumped up, ran for his slippers, and settled down to work with a will.
The next morning was a fine one, and the nine o'clock train saw a gay party of twenty-five boys with knapsacks or bags containing lunch and skates assembled at the B. and A. Depot ready to board the train for Sachem Hill. Thomas, Mr. Bangs' man, had gone up the day before to open the country house left unoccupied since the family's return to town in the autumn. And he was already making fires, and getting things into comfortable shape for the boys' arrival for the grand frolic to which Wilfred Bangs had invited his very especial friends; the parents of the twenty-four boys only insisting that their sons should each carry his own lunch, to add to the hot coffee for which Thomas was famous.
So here they were. And a long grand day before them!
"Now see here, Old Saint"--one of the boys was thoroughly provoked and he meant to show it--"if you want to go around the world making yourself disagreeable, just keep on with that talk, 'we ought to stop' and so forth. Don't you suppose we know what we're about. There's plenty of time to catch that train. I for one shall have one more skate up the pond and back, and I'll bet you a new knife I'm at the depot as soon as you are."
"St. George doesn't preach," cried an impulsive champion. "And besides, he always _does_ first himself."
"Well, you hold your tongue," cried Wingate Morse, tightening his skate-strap; "I wasn't talking to you."
"Say that again, and I'll pitch into you," declared the champion with a very red face not altogether produced by the sharp air.
"Haven't any time," said Wingate, striking off. "Come on, all you fellow's who are able to take care of yourselves, and get one good glorious good-by skate."
All but two, the champion and St. George went, and their merry shouts came floating back as the pair left behind took off their skates, tossed them hurriedly into their waiting bags and set off on a hearty run for the depot.